


The Spoken Word

by VoteSaxon45



Category: Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Crack, It gets kinky at the end, Just words, M/M, Mental Dissection, crackfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-22
Updated: 2015-11-22
Packaged: 2018-05-02 22:05:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,649
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5265389
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/VoteSaxon45/pseuds/VoteSaxon45
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>AU where the Master doesn't die in the Last of the Time Lords and he comes aboard the TARDIS. I started this out as a regular fic, but then I only wrote sentences and it sorta got away from me. I hope you can forgive me for this one.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Spoken Word

“I hate you.”  
“Don’t say that. I saved your life.”  
“I didn’t want that. I hate you.”  
“Stop it. You’re glad.”  
“I’m not. You’re disgusting.”  
“Stop it.”  
“Why? You should be honored that I’m wasting my breath speaking to something as worthless as you.”  
“I’m not a ‘something’; I’m a ‘someone’.”  
“No, you’re not. You’re a filthy creature.”  
“Stop saying things like that.”  
“Why should I?”  
“It’s rude.”  
“It’s not.”  
“It is.”  
“It’s the truth.”  
“Well, the truth is rude. Stop it.”  
“I thought the truth was good.”  
“Sometimes the truth is rude. Stop it and let me look at your injury.”  
“Why should I?”  
“Because you’re hurt.”  
“I won’t die.”  
“Yeah, but it hurts, doesn’t it?”  
“No.”  
“You don’t need to act all tough to impress me.”  
“Impress you? You should be grateful I haven’t killed you yet.”  
“You can’t.”  
“I can.”  
“No, you can’t.”  
“Yes, I can.”  
“You’re strapped to a table, for Rassilon’s sake!”  
“And?”  
“You can be such a… a…”  
“A what?”  
“I don’t want to say it.”  
“Why not?”  
“I don’t like to swear.”  
“Say it, you idiot.”  
“That’s rude!”  
“Burning Gallifrey was rude, but that didn’t stop you; did it?”  
“Why’ve you got to be such a twit?”  
“You were afraid to say ‘twit’?”  
“I wasn’t afraid…”  
“Twit.”  
“Oi!”  
“Sweet Rassilon, what shall I do? I’ve fouled my mouth – how vile of me! Kiss it, make it better?”  
“What?”  
“It was a joke, you slut.”  
“Rude!”  
“Again: and?”  
“Fine, then.”  
“Oi! What the hell do you think you’re doing?”  
“Kissing it, making it better.”  
“Get your filthy lips off of me, you fucking whore!”  
“Hey!”  
“Oh, I’m so intimidated. Get the hell away from me.”  
“Why should I?”  
“Because I don’t want you here. Doesn’t a prisoner get his privacy?”  
“You’re not a prisoner.”  
“I am strapped to a table.”  
“Well…”  
“Well what? What do you have to say for yourself?”  
“You did try and strangle me when you regained consciousness.”  
“And that surprises you how, exactly?”  
“Well… it doesn’t.”  
“It shouldn’t.”  
“It doesn’t!”  
“Got that the first time, thanks.”  
“Why’ve you got to be rude all the time?”  
“Because it’s my passion.”  
“I don’t think that qualifies as a passion. People are passionate about reading, about painting, about certain celebrities or fictional characters – apparently.”  
“We aren’t people, you twat.”  
“That’s rude!”  
“What are your passions, Doctor? Any fictional characters for you?”  
“No.”  
“That was too quick to be believable. Who is it?”  
“It’s no one!”  
“It’s obviously someone. You’re blushing.”  
“Am not!”  
“I have eyes, Doctor.”  
“It’s not – he’s-“  
“Oh, he’s a he, is he?”  
“What-no!”  
“You said ‘he’. Something you’re meaning to tell me, Doctor?”  
“No, I am not gay! Not that there’s anything wrong with it, it’s just not me!”  
“I never said you were gay.”  
“But you insinuated that I like men!”  
“Honestly, Doctor. You spend so much time on Earth, saving it, living on it, smelling like it – oh, don’t bother smelling yourself, you’re already accustomed to the stink – but you don’t bother to learn about its strange little ideas of sexuality and gender!”  
“What d’you mean?”  
“You don’t have to be homosexual to like men, idiot.”  
“But-“  
“You could be attracted to both the male and female gender. You could be attracted to all genders. Humans are so narrow-minded.”  
“Humans are brilliant!”  
“Avoiding the subject, now, are you?”  
“What? No! I was just-“  
“Who is your fictional character, Doctor? Who do you fantasize about at night, when you’re all alone here in this big, lonely TARDIS?”  
“Woah, whoa, whoa, no! I don’t fantasize about him; that’s a completely different-“  
“Too late to shut yourself up now, Doctor. You should really concentrate on limiting the babble that comes out of those lips. Tell me the fictional character.”  
“It’s not a bad thing! I like Sherlock Holmes, that’s all!”  
“Sweet Rassilon, you’re impossible.”  
“What?”  
“You could be obsessed with anyone in the Universe, and you fix on that prattling twit?”  
“Oi! He’s a genius!”  
“He’s an idiot. A close-minded, wittering idiot.”  
“I can gag you, you know!”  
“Yeah, you could… but you won’t.”  
“I should’ve let you die.”  
“Don’t give me that great big, ‘woe is me’ sigh, Doctor. Yes, you should’ve let me die. From now on, my passion is making your life a living hell.”  
“I thought it was being rude.”  
“It is. One can have multiple passions, idiot.”  
“Don’t-“  
“Who do you fantasize about?”  
“What?”  
“You said that your passion and your fantasies are completely different. What do you fantasize about?”  
“No one.”  
“Liar.”  
“Takes one to know one.”  
“And I do know a liar when I hear one. Tell me.”  
“No!”  
“Why not?”  
“That’s private!”  
“Doctor, since you’ve decided to share your quaint little rubbish bin that you call a TARDIS with me, there will be no such thing as ‘privacy’.”  
“Who says?”  
“I say.”  
“I can lock you up in your room.”  
“Again: you won’t.”  
“Why’ve you got to be such a prick?”  
“So you’ll say ‘prick’, but you’re afraid to say ‘twit’? Sometimes I worry about what goes on in that empty head of yours, Doctor.”  
“It’s not empty! I’m brilliant!”  
“Could you be more narcissistic?”  
“Takes one to know one.”  
“I go by ‘sadist’ or ‘psychopath’. I don’t believe ‘narcissist’ is in my biography.”  
“You called yourself a sadist and a psychopath in Kiss Me, Kill Me?”  
“Oh, so you’ve heard of my book!”  
“I’ve been trying to get my hands on a copy, but they all seem to have been bought up.”  
“Oh, yes. The people do love their Master.”  
“What’s that book about, anyways? I don’t expect it’s anything particularly interesting, since you didn’t need anyone to read it. All they would have to do is believe that Harold Saxon was the man you said he was.”  
“Oh, I wrote Harold Saxon’s life story, alright. And I had fun with it, too!”  
“What’s in there, Master?”  
“I had to heat things up, make him sound interesting, so there are some very… erotic chapters.”  
“You wrote porn? That’s disgusting!”  
“It wasn’t porn, per say, it was… sexually appealing enlightenment into the life of a powerful candidate for Prime Minister.”  
“Porn.”   
“You’re so thick.”  
“I’ll take that as a compliment.”  
“For someone like you, it is.”  
“Okay, that was rude!”  
“Apparently, everything I say is rude in some way or another. I just can’t get anything right with you, can I?”  
“You’re a psychopath.”  
“I like to call myself a ‘creative mind’.”  
“So, a psychopath.”  
“Yeah, pretty much.”  
“I should kill you.”  
“Do it, then. Are you ever gonna tell me about your fantasies?”  
“No.”  
“You will.”  
“Will not.”  
“Will too.”  
“Will not.”  
“I’ll just start guessing.”  
“I’ll say no to everything.”  
“You’re not a very good liar, Doctor. You blush.”  
“No, I don’t.”  
“You’re lying right now! Look, there it is, that little tint of pink on the tip of your nose.”  
“What-no, I’m not!”  
“Again, must I point out the fact that I have eyes?”  
“Shut up.”  
“Make me.”  
“I won’t tell you.”  
“Fictional.”  
“No.”  
“Real.”  
“No.”  
“Yes. Someone you know.”  
“Nuh-uh.”  
“Yeah-huh. One night stand?”  
“No.”  
“Correct. Someone you’ve known for a very long time, then.”  
“No.”  
“Yes. Someone you’re close to.”  
“No.”  
“Yes. Your entire face is verging on the shade of a tomato, Doctor; it’s best that you give up the lying and just tell me instead of making a fool of yourself.”  
“I won’t tell you.”  
“I’ll find out.”  
“No, you won’t.”  
“Companion?”  
“No.”  
“Correct. Oh, this is getting interesting. I think I’m going to figure out who he is very shortly.”  
“N-no you won’t.”  
“Your blushing is getting out of hand. Perhaps you should see a doctor for that.”  
“Shut up.”  
“Who do you fantasize about, Doctor?”  
“None of your business!”  
“Last chance.”  
“No!”  
“Captain Jack.”  
“Oh, absolutely not!”  
“Sometimes, you do. I can tell.”  
“What - ? How?”  
“I know you very well. But he’s not the main one.”  
“Of course not!”  
“And, obviously, he’s a he.”  
“How could you possibly know that?”  
“You’ve not corrected me when I’ve said ‘he’.”  
“I-it’s just because-“  
“It’s just because he’s a he. Who is it? The Brigadier General?”  
“No!”  
“Good. Is it that idiot, Mickey Smith?”  
“No!”  
“It’s me.”  
“No! Of course not!”  
“You are awful at this! I’m pretty sure you’re nearing the shade of Gallifrey by now.”  
“N-no!”   
“Give it up; I know who it is. What do you fantasize about, Doctor? That I’ll give up my wicked ways, come travel through time and space with you, saving planets?  
“From your silence, I’ll wager it’s a no from you. What do you dream about, Doctor? The dark? Oh, I bet you’re a slave to the dark. I bet you crave it-“  
“Shut up.”  
“You do! We’re not so different, after all.”  
“We are different! We’re polar opposites!”  
“The only thing different about us, my dear Doctor, is that my condition begins with ‘psycho’, whilst yours begins with ‘socio’. What do you like to dream about, Doctor? Do you like to whip me? Chain me up and commit all sorts of indecencies on my yielding, defenseless body?”  
“You’re disgusting.”  
“And you’re blushing. In your dreams, who’s dominant? You?  
“Oh, yes. You like to think of yourself as powerful in your dreams. You like to let your inner sadist come alive, don’t you? What do you do to me? Keep me from coming? Pull my hair? Bite me? Oh, yes. You like all of those things, don’t you? You like to bite me, claim me as your own. You like licking me, tasting my skin, taking my flesh. You like control.”  
“Stop it.”  
“Want to try it for real?”  
“I hate you.”  
“I know. Come here.”  
“No.”  
“Great Rassilon, Doctor. Make up your mind! What do you want?”  
“I want you to stay strapped to that table.”  
“Not much I can do otherwise.”  
“Close your eyes.”

 

“Yes, master.”


End file.
